


Collide

by coneygoil



Category: Once Upon A Time - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coneygoil/pseuds/coneygoil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpelstiltskin created the curse to find his lost son, but what he didn't know was that Baelfire was right in front of him the entire time with the one person he never expected to see again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He heard her name, just her name and his whole lonely little world came crashing about his feet. Emma's name was guarantee to restore his true memory, though at the time as the magical prison held him captive, he never imagined how incredible and painful the moment would be to have his former and new life collide.

The curse he created worked better than he ever perceived. He created it specifically to find his son. Having to take every single living being with him and wait 28 years for the return of his true self was only a minor hiccup in the long run. The curse was supposed to bring him to the world to find his boy, but it did more than just that – it found Baelfire as well.

Gold stride along the sidewalk, cane purposefully tapping on the concrete. His eyes were forward, focused on his goal, the only goal he lived for. He arrived at the floral shop blocking the glass door, heart pounding so hard in his chest it could have been visible to anyone. He grabbed for the knob, in-taking a calming breath, though it did nothing to settle his nerves.

It was the sight of her that made every muscle in his body forgot how to work. He'd thought her dead, a tragic death filled with torture and no return. He'd found her grave, only her first name engraved on the tiny stone in a lonesome cemetery on the outskirts of her father's land. It was a horrid lie concocted by a queen whose heart was twisted and black. He knew now of the falsity, the recalling of his fake memories as his former self came to be.

Her standing before his eyes, alive and functioning was nearly enough to bring him to his knees. Some aspects of the curse didn't make sense, even to him and he wondered if it was Regina's part in the whole mess that caused all of this to happen. But in the here and now, he didn't care because she was alive and tangible and he needed to touch her just to be sure she wasn't a dream.

"Mr. Gold" her voice rang in his cloudy mind, snapping him back into the waking moment. "How may I help you?"

"Good day, Ms. French." He couldn't take his eyes off her, yearning and desperation hidden behind an intense gaze. "I have a proposition for you" he replied smooth as a river stone, though his insides were trembling.

Isabelle stared at him, curiosity mixed with suspicion on her pretty features. "This isn't about the rent, is it?"

Gold flinched inward. Of course, she'd automatically assume he'd stop by for that. That was the only reason he ever visited Moe French's quaint flower shop. Baring his teeth, he wasn't sure whether to growl or grin. "No, this is about your son." And it sounded wonderfully painful in his throat. Bae was his son, and he ached to pull him close and fiercely never let go. But out of every person in this whole forsaken town, Bae was with his beloved, being raised in love and reared in kindness by the only woman who ever captured his heart.

Isabelle's lips scowled. "Did he toilet paper your house?" she asked, planting hands upon her hips in the usual mom-fashion that struck Gold with a new spark of admiration for her.

He stared bemused for a beat then shook his head. "No, he did none the sort. I came to offer your boy a job."

"A job?" Her mouth fell open and eyes narrowed as Isabelle maneuvered around the counter to stand before him, a defensive shield suddenly about her. "Why do want to offer my son a job?"

Gold glanced to the side, tapping his cane once. He had to appear to be his grandeur self, even still. "I'm in need of a strong back and young knees, Ms. French. Winters in Storybrooke are seeping into my bones a little harder each year."

She eyed him, understanding on her face but also searching. "Out of all the young men in this town, why my son?"

Gold licked his lips, thinking of an explanation. His jumbled mind had mustered an excuse for his visit to the floral shop, but he was still clearing cobwebs. "I can see that he is a good boy. He's always been polite when I've come across him, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind making some extra money."

Isabelle nodded. "I'm okay with this, but only if Bailey wants the job and if he is treated fairly."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that." Gold's mind screamed with the urge to reassure her over and over again that he'd never hurt her or his son again.

"At least you don't have to wait for an answer" Isabelle said, and Gold turned to see what had caught attention.

There he was, entering the shop, backpack hanging off one shoulder. He was taller, eye to eye with his father now. Lanky but strong in size. Gold felt his breath catch, his face nearly betraying him as he gazed at the boy, his beautiful boy. It took every fiber of his being to not cross the small space and drag him into an eternal embrace. Hundreds of years and painstaking work was worth this moment just to see Baelfire again.

"Bailey" Isabelle's voice brought Gold back to his senses. She waved for Bae to join her. He slung his backpack off by the counter and stood beside her, Isabelle's arm resting on his shoulder playfully. "Mr. Gold has something to ask you?"

Gold felt his voice give out. The two people he loved, his world, was standing in front of him watching him expectantly. He cleared his throat. "I'd like to offer you a job, son."

Bailey gawked at him. "Really?"

"Really." Gold affirmed with a nod. "I need someone to help me move things and organize my shop. I will only need you a couple days a week so not to interfere with your schooling, but you'll be paid well."

He could tell Bae was mulling it over in his head, and Gold feared the boy would turn down the offer. "I'll accept the job, Mr. Gold." Gold could feel the unbearable tension in his shoulders ease. "Under one condition."

"Name it."

Bailey shrugged Isabelle's arm from his shoulder as he straightened and stared point blank into Gold's eyes looking so grown up. "You never intimidate my mom or my grandpa about money again."

"Bailey!" exclaimed Isabelle, clearly aghast at her son's forwardness.

But he wasn't moved and neither was Gold. "Deal?" Bailey stuck out his hand, and Gold was suddenly in a spacious cottage eating supper with his son at the dinner table.

He caught Bailey's hand, shaking it, though his own hand felt as if it would shake to pieces at the touch. "Deal."


	2. Chapter 2

Anxious stirrings coursed through Gold as he waited for Bailey to show. Two days he fitfully waited for Bae's first day of work at the pawnshop. Two days he resisted temptation to skulk near the floral shop to catch a glimpse of his boy. The idea of snatching Bae away crossed his mind, but the pesky law would not allow that. He had to play his hand right or he'd lose any privilege he had to even come one hundred feet near his son.

Besides, there was more at stake than just Bae. The curse could have placed his son in the care of anyone from the Enchanted Forest, but the curse chose to place him with Belle and Gold could not have planned it any better, unless he could have had Bae in his care from the start. Gold had to exude patience just as he had for 300 years. Knowing that his son was happy and safe and there would sustain him for now.

He was waiting in front of the glass counter, peering diligently through all the baubles that lined the shop's window. He jumped to attention when Bae materialized outside the glass. The boy pushed open the door briskly and paused when he caught sight of Gold standing stiffly in the middle of the room.

Bae's lips formed an awkward smile as he stuffed one hand in his jeans pocket. "So, where do you want me to start, Mr. Gold?"

Gold shook off the desperate need to hold his son, to hear Bae call him by Papa and not his Storybrooke name. He knew it would take a while to fight back his emotions, but until then he'd restrain that part of himself. He shifted to turn, getting better footing on his good leg, and pointed with his cane to all the objects lining the top shelf on the right side of the shop. "I want every item on that shelf dusted and polished."

Bae made a face, but shrugged and went to retrieve the cleaning supplies off the counter without Gold even instructing him to. He grabbed the tool belt, examined it, and finally gave a genuine smile. "This is like the one Grandpa uses when gardening. Cool."

It took Gold several seconds, but it finally registered who Bae was speaking of. Belle's father, Sir Maurice, Lord of the Marchlands, but in this world he was only Moe French, a barely-making-it-by floral shop owner. This situation was truly going to take time to get used to, and Gold secretly schemed on how to bring back his son's memory sooner than how long he'd have to wait for Miss Unbelieving Emma Swan to break the curse.

"Yes, I thought it might come in handy" he replied, and felt as if his heart would wrench at having to use such pointlessly casual words with the one person he yearned to ask for long overdue forgiveness.

Gold was impressed, though not surprised that Bae appeared to be a hard worker. Bae had eagerly helped his father from the time he could walk and never complained about the long hours of staying by his father's side as he spun their meager life earnings.

"This is a lot of stuff" Bae remarked about halfway down the shelf. He wiped his brow that was glistening with a line of sweat, pushing his unruly bangs off his forehead.

Gold sat behind the counter on a rather uncomfortable wooden stool, choosing to riffle through paper work there instead of in his office. This was the only way for him right now to spend time with his boy and Gold would take any opportunity that crossed his way. "Take a break, Bae. There's a refrigerator in my office with soft drinks." He wouldn't mention the fact he had visited the appliance store the day before to buy a small fridge just to stock drinks for his boy.

Bae nodded, seemingly impressed, and disappeared in the back. He emerged momentarily gulping down a Barq's root beer. He sighed, grinning slyly. "Mama doesn't allow soft drinks in our house."

"It'll be our secret" Gold replied, mirroring the boy's grin, feeling more at ease. He knew his son well in the old world, but what qualities the boy gained or lost from the curse was still unknown to him and he felt the need to keep reminding himself of that in case Bae did something out of the ordinary.

The thought reminded Gold of something Belle had asked him, though it didn't register at the time. "What is this business with you toilet papering a house?"

Bae sat awkwardly slumped over as he used the ladder for a makeshift seat. He loudly swallowed a gulp of his drink then snickered to himself as if the question triggered an inside joke that only he was in on. "Me and a friend TPed Dr. Whale's house a month ago."

So it was true. Gold looked curiously at the boy. "Why Dr. Whale?"

Bae sighed in exasperation. "My mom went out on a date with him, but at the end of the night, Whale got real – as Mama said – handsy." The last word sounded as if a question mark should have ended with it. "She actually had to slap him to make him stop."

It took effort for Gold not to snigger. He imagined Belle in a car with Whale getting frisky and her beating the snot out of him with her tiny but deadly fist, but an unexpected wave of anger hit him at the thought of Whale getting frisky with his true love.

"That's why we TPed his house," Bae continued and he made it sound like the most natural thing in the world. It wasn't in Bae's natural to seek revenge, if you could even call littering someone's house with clean rolls of toilet paper revenge, but Gold shook it away and reminded himself again that his Bae would be a bit different. "Anyone who messes with my mom has to deal with me."

"Is that why you made that deal with me?" Gold felt three feet high at the realization. All Bae knew of him was ruthless landlord Mr. Gold. "Protecting your mother."

Bae shrugged nonchalantly, seeming shy for being called out on the fact. "Someone has to protect her."

Gold bowed his head to hide a proud smile. "And why haven't you attacked my house yet?"

Bae snorted. "I promised Grandpa I wouldn't. He thinks you'll have the sheriff ship me off to juvy or something."

"Your mother isn't as worried?" All the times Mr. Gold threatened Isabelle French with bared teeth and steely eyes flooded guilt in him. "It didn't take much to convince her about giving you a job."

"Mama's not paranoid like Grandpa. She'd scratch out someone's eyes if they simply blinked wrong at me" Bae said, a hidden sense of pride in his voice.

"You better hide your drink" Gold informed out of nowhere, but the bell clanged an instant later and Bae scrambled to stuff his can of soda behind a wide-bottomed lamp nearby.

"Hi Mama" Bae greeted far too chipper as he tried to stand casually by the ladder without fidgeting. Gold chuckled inwardly at the display.

Isabelle wasn't buying it. "What on earth are you doing, Bailey?" she asked as him fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Taking a break."

"A break?" Isabelle turned to face Gold, crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn't figure you as a break kind of boss, Mr. Gold. You certainly don't give any breaks to your tenants when the rent is due and they can't pay."

Gold stepped around the counter, masking the indignation he felt at her cutting words with practiced ease. "That's a different situation all together, Ms. French."

"If you say so." Isabelle spun around, her biting tone brightening. "Bailey, will you go retrieve the cooler from the car for me, please?"

Bae's eyes lit up. "Turkey sandwiches with Swiss cheese and a gallon of mayo?"

Isabelle giggled. "Of course, silly goose!"

Bae bolted out the shop in a flurry of limbs, the door slamming in his wake.

Isabelle was still giggling when she faced Gold again. "That boy would live off turkey if I allowed it." Her cutting edge was gone, and her eyes were softer. "Do you like turkey sandwiches, Mr. Gold?"

"Am I allowed to eat from your lunch package as well?" he asked mimicking her sharpness from just a moment ago.

Isabelle pursed her lips, her gaze not leaving his. "It would be rude of me not to share. It's good to see Bailey in one piece. I had expected to find my son halfway out the door ready for me to save him."

"You assumed I'd be that awful to an employee?"

"I wouldn't put it pass you, but since Bailey isn't begging to leave, I'll take it that he is enjoying his work."

Gold finally broke eye contact as he made his way back to the wooden stool behind the counter. "I take it he is. And truly, Ms. French," he paused, carefully seating himself and hanging his cane on the glass case, "-don't worry about checking up on your son. I have no qualms with children."

Isabelle nodded, seeming reassured. "I'll take your word for it, Mr. Gold. Now what is taking Bailey so long to get back?"

Gold spied the boy munching down on a sandwich, leaning against the hood of his mother's car. "I say he is not willing to share his lunch" he informed, far too amused than he wished to sound.

Isabelle spun around, mouth gapping open. "That boy" she growled, storming out the door, fists curled tightly ready to whoop her son's tail. "Bailey!"


	3. Chapter 3

Bailey was one happy kid as he walked to his new job. He'd worked at Mr. Gold's pawnshop for three weeks now, and already had a significant among of cash lining his jeans' pocket for the first time in his young life. Mr. Gold paid him in cash every day, paying the boy above minimum wage. Bailey had expected the pawnshop owner to be stingy being the money grubber everyone knew him to be. But when Mr. Gold presented him with the first day's pay, the unrelenting landlord went up a notch in Bailey's book.

His mother had asked if Mr. Gold was treating him well. Bailey rolled his eyes after the fifth time she inquired him, and slinked off to his bedroom, muttering, "Everything is cool, Mom." She'd drop by unexpectedly nearly every day he worked, much to Bailey's discontent. She was checking up on him, and what self-respecting teenage boy wanted their mom checking on them all the time?

His mother had always been polite to Mr. Gold, that's just who was. She wasn't afraid of him like most people in town, only cautious. Bailey admired her courage. He figured that's where he received his backbone, because it definitely wasn't from his father. The man had left before he was born. In his mind, his father was a coward, not wanting to take responsibly for the new life he created. His mother only spoke of the man a few times in his life and only in vague detail. It seemed she didn't even remember much about him.

It surprised Bailey how well he was getting along with Mr. Gold. The older man was easy to talk to, and they'd had many conversations as Bailey dusted, sorted, or moved whatever Mr. Gold instructed him to. The pawnshop owner was more than willing to discuss matters of everyday life, asking Bailey how school was going and giving advice if needed. It was nice having another adult to talk to besides his mother or grandpa.

What really set Mr. Gold above the image of strict landlord was the fridge of sodas he kept in the back. Mr. Gold limited him to one per work day, but Bailey was more than happy with that arrangement. If his mother ever found out, she'd probably have Bailey's hide for not informing his employer of the standards he was supposed to keep. He'd take the risk.

While Bailey was cutting through the park from school on his way to work one Friday, a group of boys around his age were in a circle around someone. Bae knew from experience these boys were trouble. He didn't want to interfere with whatever scheming deed they were up to, but halted when he saw one of the boys push down a much younger one into the dirt.

Bailey didn't give a second's thought as he dashed over to the group, pushing his way into the circle. The younger boy sprawled on the ground he recognized as Henry Mills, the mayor's son. If Henry was scared, he didn't show and Bailey admired him for that.

"Still picking on kids way younger than you, Nate?" Bailey snapped, shielding Henry, never taking his eyes off his adversary.

Nathaniel Cole stepped forward, menacingly. He was eye to eye with Bailey, but had more muscle tone and strength. Being the smaller of any fight never stopped Bailey from taking on any boy he needed to beat down. Anger toward bullies kept any fear he may have had defused.

"If it means I get to pound my fist into your face again" Nate answered with a crack of his knuckle.

Bailey only had to wait a beat before the larger boy lunged a fist at his face. Bailey moved aside, hooking a foot around Nate's leg. Nate fell to the ground face first, and sputtered as he raised his head, dusty dirt covering his front. He quickly rolled over, jumping to his feet and tackling Bailey to the ground. Bailey scrambled to get out of Nate's arm locked around his middle. He knew if your adversary held you on the ground, he had a better chance of beating the snot out of you.

Nate's hand gripped Bailey's shirt tail, keeping him from standing. Bailey snarled, whirling around and clocking Nate's cheekbone. Nate yelped, holding his already bruising cheek. It took no time for his anger to catch up and he jumped to his feet again, lunging blindly with a tight fist. Bailey nearly fell backwards as it connected with his right eye.

The other boys were suddenly scrambling in all different directions. Henry was yelling at him to run as he tugged desperately at Bailey's hoodie sleeve. He let Henry drag him along as they disappeared into a patch of trees. They slowed after running a safe distance, both hunched over out of breath. Bailey slugged over to a tree, plopping down none-too-gracefully, holding his throbbing eye.

"Thanks for saving me from those guys," Henry said, shuffling over to bend down next to Bailey. A touch of wonder filled his voice. "You were really brave to take on Nate like that."

Bailey shrugged a shoulder, groaning as he did. "That was not the first time I ever fought with Nate."

"Judging by the bruise on his face, you hit him hard." Henry smiled.

"Good" Bailey muttered, the idea of Nate's purple and black cheekbone shining for all the world to see amused him highly and made his own pain worth it. "I need to get to work. I'm already way too late."

Henry ran off in the opposite direction as Bailey ran through the woods, making it to the main street and down the sidewalk to the pawnshop. He stopped short as he threw open the door, the bell clanging wildly. Mr. Gold stood in the middle of the shop floor looking rather tense.

"Bailey, where have you been?" he asked sternly but gently. Mr. Gold suddenly seemed shocked as Bailey stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He stayed rooted to the floor as Mr. Gold hurried to him, grabbing his chin, turning his face to the left to examine the bruise. "What happened to you, son?"

"It's nothing" Bailey replied, nonchalantly pushing passed his employer to dispose of his backpack in the office. He was well aware of Mr. Gold following him, hoping the older man would not press the issue. He'd probably want to call Bailey's mom, she'd rush over and make a huge fuss. That was the last thing Bailey wanted. He'd deal with the worry and wrath of his mother soon enough.

"It's nothing?" Mr. Gold echoed acidulously. "Your eye is shining brighter than the sun."

"I got into a little fight with someone." Bailey shrugged it off, making his way to the fridge for a can of soda. He popped the tab, taking a long sip, and then pressing the cold can to his eye. "No big deal."

"Who was the boy that attacked you?" Mr. Gold prompted, his lips forming a snarl.

Bailey groaned. He hadn't expected an interrogation from his employer. Why should the man even care? He didn't come to work all bloody or with a broken bone, and was only a fraction late. "It's doesn't matter. Isn't the first time I've been in a fight, and won't be the last time."

Mr. Gold tapped his cane as he stepped forward. The concern on the man's usual schooled features was disconcerting. "If you won't tell him who fought with you, at least tell me the reason why."

He could give Mr. Gold the reason at least. Bailey leaned against the desk, taking another swig of soda and replacing it against his throbbing eye. "I was headed here when I saw some jerks pushing the mayor's son around." Bailey felt himself glaring at Mr. Gold. "I don't take kindly to bullies. They think they're strong and above other people, but all they are, are cowards."

A long beat passed as employer and employee stared off, both pairs of brown eyes unblinking. Mr. Gold finally broke contact, glancing down at the floor. "Be careful, son. Next time you may receive more than just a black eye."


	4. Chapter 4

It was no surprise to Isabelle when she spotted the shiner encircling her son's eye. Bailey was a boy and boys enjoyed pounding their fists into each other's face for no apparent reason. Bailey, however, did have a good reason this time, though she'd have preferred he find an adult to intervene.

Isabelle was surprised by the concern Mr. Gold showed for Bailey's encounter. In fact, the way he treated her son completely shocked her. She'd never seen Mr. Gold interact with children before, but maybe he had a soft spot for kids? When she thought about it, he'd never bestowed a harsh word on her either. To her father, yes, but not to her. Poor Moe French became flustered every time the landlord made an appearance.

"I don't think Mr. Gold has any friends" Bailey commented one evening as his mother prepared supper.

Isabelle snorted. "I'm not surprised. Bailey, get off the counter!" She shooed her son from the counter, slapping his shoulder and bestowing her most menacing 'Mom' look. Bailey only rolled his eyes, hopping off to sit at the round, green laminate kitchen table.

"Mr. Gold is kind of cool."

Isabelle couldn't help but feel the need to agree. Every time she dropped by Mr. Gold's shop unexpectedly, which was pretty much every single day Bailey worked there, he was always friendly toward her in an awkward sort of way. "He does seem nicer than I expected. Maybe he's finally realizing being an absolute jerk is a lonely road."

Bailey shrugged. "I kind of feel bad for him."

"Bailey, the man chooses to be the way he is" Isabelle stated with the air of adult experience. She plopped a bowl of potatoes and a peeler in front of him. "You get what you give, and Mr. Gold doesn't seem to give anything away."

"Maybe he just needs someone to be his friend." The hinting in Bailey's voice was more than obvious.

Isabelle sighed in frustration, knowing her son was right. What did she know of Mr. Gold's past? What if something had happened to cause him to be such a cold human being and all he needed was someone to chip the ice away with a wee bit of kindness and acceptance?

Isabelle leaned on the heels of her hands on the table across from her son, eyeing him wryly. Bailey looked back, feigning innocence. "How about we invite Mr. Gold over for supper tomorrow night?"

Bailey's wide grin was answer enough.

The next morning as she dropped her son off at the pawnshop, Isabelle followed him in. She shouldn't have been nervous, really. She'd held more than enough brief conversations with Mr. Gold over the past few weeks to feel at ease talking to him. It wasn't as if asking him to come over for supper would cost Bailey his job or anything.

Mr. Gold accepted the offer with something that resembled a smile. Isabelle wasn't sure if he was glad or irritated by the offer, either way Mr. Gold was coming to supper that night. As she walked out the pawnshop, her father came to mind and she groaned. Moe would not be happy with the relentless landlord sitting at their humble kitchen table.

Bailey had informed his grandfather of his new job, and Moe was on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he paced around the coffee table, rubbing perspiration from his face as Bailey assured him Mr. Gold wouldn't take the boy for collateral for their rent. The poor man would probably have a mild heart attack sharing a meal with the infamous pawnshop owner.

She had to get her father out the house. Maybe suggesting Moe go play cards that night would work. It was really the only idea she had. Moe was one for settling in his worn, red leather chair in the evenings and not move until it was time to turn in. Playing cards would have to do whether she had to call all her father's friends herself to organize it. Thankfully, Moe was up to the idea and said he'd spread the word as he did his rounds along his delivery route. Isabelle sighed in relief, heading outside to water the plants. There was hope for a peaceful evening.

Mr. Gold drove Bailey home that evening after closing up shop. "Hi, Mom!" he greeted cheerfully, rushing passed her. "I'm gonna wash up!"

"All right!" Isabelle shook her head, chuckling to herself. She turned, nearly forgetting Mr. Gold had come in, and gave him a small, welcoming smile.

"Good evening, Ms. French" Mr. Gold said pleasantly, and Isabelle could have sworn she saw a hint of nervousness on his face.

"Mr. Gold."

"It smells good" he commented, gesturing to the oven.

A compliment before the meal was even served? Isabelle bit her lip, smiling again, surprised. "Thank you. I hope you like chicken spaghetti."

"Anything you fix will be fine."

Isabelle nodded, wracking her brain for something else to say. When they talked in the pawnshop, conversation came easy, but now that they were in her territory, her personal space, her mind was blank. It seemed Mr. Gold was having the same problem. She was relieved when Bailey reappeared and took up post sitting at the table, coaxing Mr. Gold to sit as well.

She'd seen her son and Mr. Gold interact several times, but it still perplexed her how well they connected. Bailey chatted with his employer as if they'd been friends his whole life. Mr. Gold seemed to connect with Bailey just as easily. He portrayed such patience with the boy, such comfortable ease.

Isabelle peeked in the oven, the pan of chicken spaghetti browning nicely. "Supper will be ready in a few minute" she announced, taking out the plates from the cabinet.

Bailey hopped up to prepare drinks. Mr. Gold watched them both intently, his rigid stature loosened now. Isabelle was placing the plates on the table, feeling more at ease herself with the fact that Mr. Gold was sitting at her kitchen table as if he belonged there, when the front door swung open. She nearly jumped out her skin, eyes wide at the sight of her father standing in the doorway.

"Papa!" Isabelle exclaimed, sounding far too chipper. "What happened to playing cards tonight?"

Moe stood still as if he'd been turn to stone, eyeing Mr. Gold timidly. "Mr. Gold" he croaked out, ignoring his daughter. He stood a little taller, prouder. "The rent isn't due for another two weeks."

"I'm not here for the rent, Mr. French" Gold growled, his tone sounding as if shooing away a pesky bug.

Isabelle was about to intervene, but Bailey did before she could and it was probably for the best. The boy was good at soften blows. "We invited Mr. Gold over for supper, Grandpa."

Moe shot Isabelle a look of contempt. "So, that's why you wanted me to go play cards tonight" he accused.

"If you have a problem with me eating at your table, Mr. French, then I'll leave" Mr. Gold said, grabbing his cane to stand.

"You're not leaving!" Bailey yelled, and he rushed to stand in front of Moe, not at all intimidated by the taller man's towering frame. "He's our guest, Grandpa. Just because you don't like him, doesn't mean we can't."

Moe glanced at Isabelle then back down at Bailey's hopeful face. "Okay" he finally said eyes burning at Mr. Gold.

Isabelle let out the breath she'd held in since her father walked through the door. She glanced over at Mr. Gold, noticing how white his knuckles were on the head of his cane and how tight his jaw sat. He'd kept his promise to Bailey to not threaten her or Moe, but she could tell how much her father's attitude was eating at him. Isabelle rubbed her eyes, the uneasy feeling that the evening would not be as pleasant as she thought.

Supper was slightly awkward as both men sat across from each other, ultimately ignoring one another. All the focus was on Bailey, who knew exactly how to defuse the tension by chatting away about anything that came to mind. Mr. Gold complimented her again, this time for how delicious the meal was and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Moe's jaw set firmly.

Bailey pulled Moe into the living room to play a round of cards after supper, and Isabelle was amazed once again by the boy's art of distraction. But that meant she was left alone with Mr. Gold. He awkwardly in one hand carried a stake of dishes over to the sink as she prepared the water for wash.

"Oh, you don't have to do that" Isabelle rendered taking the stake from his hand carefully.

"It's no matter," Gold replied, coming to stand a few feet from her at the counter. "Thank you, Ms. French, for inviting me. Coming to know Bailey has put my mind at ease." Isabelle looked up, cocking her head just slightly, curious. "And you as well," Gold added, and she nearly dropped the plate she was placing in the sink.

Isabelle took up the washcloth, and began scrubbing, her brow furrowed. "Why Bailey?" she asked, inquiringly. "Out of all the young men in town, why did you have my son come work for you?"

"I told you before, Ms. French. Bailey is a good boy, and I needed someone who I felt I could trust."

The last line caught Isabelle curiosity. There was more to it than just needing someone to help around his shop. She turned to Mr. Gold, dropping the washcloth in the sink water with a plop. "What's the catch, Mr. Gold?"

She could tell in his eyes that he had more reasoning behind it than what he was telling her, but he was reluctant to say. After a long beat, he licked his bottom lick and answered, "I need an heir."

"An heir?" Isabelle echoed, confused. "You mean, for your business and housing?"

Mr. Gold nodded, fiddling with the head of his cane. "You see, Ms. French, I have no one to take over all that is mine when I am gone."

"No family?" she asked astonished, but it hit her who she was talking to.

"None" Mr. Gold said flatly, and what he told her next dropped an anchor in Isabelle's heart. "I had a son, but he's gone." Gold's gaze was fixed on the kitchen table. "Bailey reminds me so much of my son in many ways. I guess that is another reason I chose him."

Isabelle bit her upper lip, her thoughts from the day before hitting her like a mac truck. Something had happened in Mr. Gold's past to make him the way he is. He'd lost his son. She couldn't imagine such a horrible fate as to lose a child. She had the urge to run to Bailey and hug him close and never let go. "I'm sorry" she whispered, raising a hand to squeeze his shoulder in a brief, comforting touch.

"It was a long time ago" Mr. Gold continued. "I want this to be Bailey's discussion, but only if you're all right with the offer." He met her eyes, a pained look glowering back at her.

Isabelle offered a reassuring smile, not completely sure if she was okay with it yet. "If Bailey wishes to be your heir then I'll allow it."

Mr. Gold thanked her. She hoped he stay for the blueberry tarts she'd baked earlier that day, but he bid goodnight to Bailey who made it a point to shake the older man's hand, respectfully. Moe just sat on the couch glaring, and Gold skillfully ignored him.

As Isabelle saw him out the door, Gold hesitated for a moment as they said their goodnights. He leaned over and kissed Isabelle's cheek before heading out. She could barely move shock electrifying through her at what just happened. It was barely a brush of the lips on her cheek and it probably didn't mean anything but thank you, but Isabelle couldn't help think it meant something totally different.  



End file.
